Chapter Ten #2
When my lungs are burning, fire licking up my sides, and a stitch clenches like a vice in my abdomen, I hurl myself over a fallen log and crouch behind it, panting. Hiding feels just as hopeless as running when I know my labored breaths and the sobs I can’t hold back any longer will give me away.
Is this a game? Would they really let a crazed animal maul me just for a sick laugh?
Peering over the log, everything is as still as it is dark, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there.
Watching. Waiting. I tuck back into a tight ball out of sight, rubbing my side to work out the cramp.
A shiver races down my spine from the plummeting temperature.
If the frenzied hog doesn’t get me, the luring caress of winter sure will.
I need to find my way back to campus, find a professor or better yet, the Dean.
How would the board feel if they knew their precious heir was delivering threats by day and hazing students by night?
Flexing my fingers, I hop up and start to run again.
The short stop has cost me vital body warmth as I stumble onwards, using my hands to feel for wooden barricades blocking my way.
I’m forced to slow, winding my way through the maze of the forest while pointlessly looking back.
If I haven’t been caught by now, surely no one is coming after all?
A body collides with mine in the next instant, all the air in my lungs forced out as my chest slams into a trunk.
Colors burst behind my eyes, my temple slamming into the bark, heat flooding to a graze scraping across my cheek as I’m held in place.
Pinned in place by a body at my back, I shout for someone to help me.
Someone. Anyone. I scream until my voice feels raw, the silence in my head echoing.
An arm snakes around my upper arms and yanks backwards, arching my back.
The pig’s mask brushes my cheek, nudging my hair aside with their silicone nose.
Heated breath huffs out of the nostril holes and fills my ear.
My stomach flips. Not today, asshole. Bucking violently, I manage to jolt my captor off balance.
It’s easier than I expected, which somehow makes it worse. Like he wants me to fight. Then, crack.
A sharp sting explodes across my thigh. I scream from pain this time, the sting bursting like fireworks beneath my skin.
My hand flies to the spot, blood instantly rushing to my throbbing thigh.
In the slight shine from the moon, the object is brought up to my face, sturdy yet smooth leather being dragged across my cheek. A paddle.
Pushing me forward again, grinding his hips against my ass, I don’t have to fake the retch from an uninvited erection pressing against me, which earns a second whack of the paddle on my still sore thigh.
On what I’m sure sounds like a banshee’s battle cry, I throw myself backwards and put all of my energy into elbowing my way free.
Pure adrenaline fuels me to land blows wherever I can and bolt the second I have enough freedom to make my escape.
This time, I don’t attempt to be cautious, blindly running into trees and falling over shrubs, but never stopping.
My feet fall into several holes, raised roots trying to hold me back as I’m in full fight or flight mode.
With every panted breath and panicked step further away from campus, the surer I become that I’ll never find my way back.
I slam into another obstacle, becoming accustomed to the pain blossoming across my front, but this one isn’t like the unforgiving trees.
Warmth pushes back against me, hands grabbing my hips and throwing me upwards.
I squeal, my flailing hands connecting with a branch, which I cling to with all my might.
Pulling myself up, I attach myself to the thick branch in desperation to escape this horrendous night.
The wood beneath me bows as whoever threw me up here also climbs up and nudges me over.
Once we’ve shifted into a dip where the trunk meets the branch, I’m lifted into a lap in one easy move.
I struggle at first, shoving against him until the smooth material of his t-shirt gives me pause. A strong, musky smell fills my senses, a solid chest beneath my fingers rising and falling evenly. The darkness of the night is all-consuming, my eyesight failing me even this close.
Using my palms, I feel the outline of his shape, from broad shoulders to huge biceps.
Trailing my fingers upwards, he allows me to explore the strength of his jawline and the stubble coating it.
No robes, no mask. Not one of the assholes trying to scare the shit out of me and strike me with a paddle.
“Who are you?” I whisper shakily. With the gentlest touch, he pulls my hand from his face and holds it palm up with the utmost care. Using a finger from his other hand, he slowly writes letters upon my palm one by one. C-L-A-Y-T-O-N.
A rush of relief floods me, tears instantly prickling behind my eyes. Clayton is here. He came for me.
Closing my hand as if I can somehow capture the soft tingling he’s left there, I press it to my chest and lean into his warmth without hesitation.
My body begins to tremble, as much from the cold as from the creeping spill of fear that continues to seep into my bones.
Clayton winds his arms around me, pulling me close, holding me steady as the first tear slips free.
Squeezing my eyes shut, the image of that pig-faced figure waits for me behind my lids, grotesque and grinning.
A sob bursts from my throat as I fist Clayton’s shirt in my grip, clinging to him as though the world might fall apart if I let go.
The weight of what has just happened crashes over me with brutal clarity, the realization of how far it could have gone slamming into my chest. I can’t breathe, I can’t think.
I can only hold on, shivering and aching in ways I don’t yet have words for.
This was supposed to be my new beginning. The chance to make something of myself, to leave a mark on the world. Rhys Waversea has stolen that from me. He’s playing a game in which no one knows the rules, making decisions based on a whim and a wounded ego.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but Clayton doesn’t shift away. He doesn’t try to communicate any further, just waits with a kindness I’ve come to realize is rare around here. I’ve soaked through his shirt, stolen every bit of warmth from his body, but he doesn’t pull back.
In the thick blackness of tonight, I allow myself this one moment where I don’t have to pretend I’m strong.
I don’t have to be composed. I don’t have to carry it alone.
I hate the way vulnerability feels like a bruise, but right now, I need it.
I need him. I don’t know where he came from or how he found me, but for once, I don’t care.
Shifting slightly, my side still leaning against his front, my fingers brush against the firm plane of his abdomen.
The contact is accidental, but I don’t pull away.
Instead, shielded by darkness and fueled by the flicker of recklessness rising in my chest, I trace the hard lines of his abs and the subtle divide between his chest muscles.
He doesn’t stop me. He lets me touch, lets me explore, my hand drifting upward with a boldness I shouldn’t feel after everything I’ve experienced tonight.
Or perhaps I feel this way in spite of it.
A huge middle finger to Rhys that proves I can’t be broken so easily.
Curling my fingers around the back of Clayton’s neck, I lean forward just enough to offer the invitation of a kiss.
He inclines his head and my blood remembers heat.
A quiet ache stirs beneath my skin, a hunger not just for closeness but for comfort.
I want to be wanted. I want to feel like more than something discarded and damaged.
His fingers skim the edge of my jacket, his palm inching upwards until he closes it around mine, making my breath catch in my throat. I close my eyes needlessly and tilt my head upward just as he gently peels my hand away from his neck.
Bracing his arms tighter around me, Clayton pushes us both from the branch, causing my hair to rise, my gut to plummet and a scream to become caught in my throat.
Landing on his feet with bent knees, it takes me a second to release the way I’ve coiled myself around his shoulders.
He places me down on shaky legs and steps away immediately, leaving me to steady myself.
Using the briefest of touch to turn me in the opposite direction, he places a hand on my shoulder to direct me forward and walk me through the wood like a dog on a leash.
Embarrassment claws at my cheeks, a blush consuming my entire face.
My nostrils flare in frustration at the complete fool I’ve just made of myself.
The man came to save me and I threw myself at him. Could I be any more desperate?
Shrugging out of his grip, I pull the collar of my jacket higher around my neck and storm onwards.
I don’t need to see his body language or hear his false words to understand his kindness was purely for my benefit.
And if there’s one thing I hate above all else, it’s other people’s charity.
Sure they mean well, using my needs to boost their own self-esteem or to validate all the shitty things they may have done, but this is my life.
I’ll fight my own battles, and I’ll manage alone if that’s what it takes.
The moon has decided to finally grace us with its presence, breaking clear of the clouds for long enough to illuminate the woodland around me. Even if I had a choice, we would be walking back in silence as there’s nothing I have to say. Nothing I could hear to make me feel any less like an idiot.
Nevertheless, I sneak a glance back every so often to check Clayton is still following, just in case the crowd of pig-faced jocks return.
I hate that I’m still hyper-aware, flinching at the shadows.
I hate that I was coaxed into Rhys’ weird hog fantasy.
But that’s fine. I can use my humiliation and channel my frustrations for a better cause, one that will see Rhys freezing his balls off and face-down in the mud.
Revenge is a mean bitch, and this one might just be his downfall.